


close your eyes and go

by dyingpoet



Series: Sprace one shots [23]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, implied more than anything though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 20:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16456346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet
Summary: Sometimes Race needs to get out, and when he does he usually ends up in the same place





	close your eyes and go

**Author's Note:**

> sup boys we out here Dying and also attempting to put out quality content for once

“You goin’ ta bed already, Racer?”

Jack looked at Race with a bit of suspicion as he edged away from the group, it was barely past eight and a couple of the guys looked like they might get a card game going. Sort of his scene.

Nevertheless, he flashed Jack a grin and moved toward the bunk room. “Didn’t sleep too well last night, kept seein’ ya face while I was sleepin’ and wakin’ up, scary stuff.”

He got a couple laughs with that one, and Jack rolled his eyes as he waved him off, relenting it seemed, as Race slunk off to the bunks. He wasn’t even tired, if he was being honest, and Jack was right to be put off by the fact that he was turning in early.

Well, he wasn’t really turning in. Checking to make sure no one had trailed in after him, Race started for the window with the fire escape, Jack had already done a headcount, and he couldn’t think straight enough to care about what would happen if he noticed Race was missing. 

If he stayed somebody was bound to notice his hands shaking, he hadn’t eaten in a couple days and was looking to keep it that way. 

A burst of cool air hit his face as he wrenched the window open and stepped out onto the fire escape, it was getting cold, that was part of the problem. Every winter it got harder and harder, more kids came in off the street, and they didn’t have enough food to go around. The older guys tried to skip a meal now and then to make sure everyone got something, and Jack tried his best to make sure no one was doing what Race was doing and just not eating at all. 

Some of the kids had started coughing though, and if they didn’t eat enough it would get worse. He figured he could grab something tomorrow or the next day, he’d gone longer without food before he’d been a newsie anyway. 

His feet hit the pavement and the jolt got him out of the daze he’d been in for a while. The warmth of the lodging house faded behind him and he set out down the street with a bit of a rushed pace. It got dark early now, it could’ve been two in the morning with how the shadow took everything. He’d remembered his matchbook, so he could go somewhere and smoke, that could usually trick him into feeling full for a bit. 

The streets were pretty empty, it was a Friday and most everyone was at home eating dinner or at a bar someplace. It was only a few blocks to the East River, he had a nice little spot a ways off the bridge that he’d carved out for himself, in a way. The bridge itself had too much traffic, even at this time of night, and it was hard for a kid to go unnoticed and unbothered no matter how much he tried, and he’d tried. 

And there had to be eyes that could see across the river, the few times he’d sat on the structure itself a guy from Brooklyn had sauntered over and watched him until he left. He had a suspicion to who was responsible for that, which was, as of now, unconfirmed. 

“Lock up when you leave, dear!”

A woman walked out of an alley, nearly running into Race but somehow managing to not see him otherwise. The lights of a bakery spilled onto the sidewalk and Race became very aware of the hollow feeling in his stomach. 

There was a girl inside, cleaning up it seemed, and there was a split second of tired desperation where Race thought how easy it would be to just go inside and take something. He was just  _ so  _ hungry and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten any sort of food fresh like that.

But the girl looked younger than Race, and blissfully unaware of his presence lurking just outside the store window. It felt like he’d be stealing from a kid, and having been stolen from  _ as _ a kid he knew that it was a shitty thing to do. It was no one’s fault but his that he was hungry.

“Might be gettin’ soft,” he mused to no one in particular. Continuing on his path to the river, he pulled his cigar out of his pocket and fumbled with the matchbook until a flame sprouted from the tip of a match. Bringing it to the edge of the cigar he inhaled deeply.

* * *

 

_ “Take a smoke, kid, if ya ever get hungry, take a smoke, keeps ya from feelin’ it.” _

_ “But don’t ya gotta eat?” _

_ “Just take the damn smoke, Anthony.” _

* * *

 

The memory came from somewhere he didn’t often like to visit, and he hated his father for making it that stark in his head. He was the one that kicked him out for good, held a cigar to the back of his neck, whiskey soaked breath suffocating him, before throwing him out onto the street. Jack had found him the next day, curled up in an alley.

The scar was still there, he’d grown out his hair to cover it, but Jack knew. 

The feeling of home, if you could even call it that after so long, glazed Race’s eyes a little, and he hadn’t been paying all that much attention, but the sound of a foghorn brought him back down and allowed him to refocus.

It was colder next to the river and he walked quickly through the grass to his little spot on the bank. He was glad he left lodging though, he was starting to get dizzy and wasn’t all that good at hiding it.

Taking a seat next to the water, he watched a few small ships passing under the bridge.

* * *

 

_ “She’s gone ‘way on one of them ships, that go unda’ the bridge.” _

_ “When’s she comin’ back, pa?” _

_ “She ain’t.” _

* * *

 

A pang shot through his head and Race shifted to lay down, looking at the water was making him sick, among other things. Bringing the cigar down to his lips, he closed his eyes. Sleeping here probably wasn’t all that safe, but he couldn’t find the energy to care.

* * *

 

_ “Why you lookin’ at the water, Race?” _

_ “Dunno, seems awful nice down there.” _

_ “Don’t be a dumbass.” _

_ “I mean it, Jack.” _

* * *

 

A twig cracked somewhere behind Race’s head and he scrambled up, cigar falling out of his mouth and onto the back of his hand, getting a hiss of pain out of him.

“Jumpy, huh?”

Race let out a breath and rocked back on his heels, Spot walking out of the brush to take a seat next to him. 

“Yeah, ‘specially when I’se gettin’ snuck up on,” Race quipped, letting a faint smile cross his face as he steadied his shaking hands on the ground. “Ya thinkin’ ‘bout tossin’ me in?”

Spot snorted, kicking lightly at Race’s knew. He wasn’t one to talk much, even when they were alone, and Race got to watch his eyes scan over him, got to see his features harden and compress when they got to his trembling arms. Disconcerting, really.

“‘S lookin’ like someone might’a beat me to the punch there.” 

Race squirmed a bit under his gaze, breaking his gaze to pick at the grass underneath him. If he’d had a bit more energy he might have shot back with something, or maybe if he’d been with one of the Manhattan boys, but Spot had a presence like Jack did, and he found himself telling the truth more often than not.

* * *

 

_ “What’re ya doin’ out here this late, kid?” _

_ “Thinkin’.” _

_ “‘Bout what?” _

_ “Flyin’ Jackie.” _

_ “You need to get some sleep, Race.” _

_ “Maybe.” _

* * *

 

Someone yelled in the distance and Race flinched despite himself. “I ain’t that bad, sorta tired.”

“Hungry too, looks like.”

Race nodded slowly, still refusing to meet Spot’s eyes. “Ya know how it gets, Spotty.”

A beat of silence, and then Spot was lifting Race’s chin to meet his eyes, his own head cocked to the side as Race guessed he was trying to make himself look as approachable as possible. “Nah, why don’t’cha explain it ta me.”

* * *

 

_ “Is Brooks gonna die?” _

_ “I dunno, Race, he’s awful sick.” _

_ “He ain’t been eatin’, has he?” _

_ “Guess not.” _

* * *

 

“Sometimes you gotta skip a meal or two so the others can eat.” Race could  _ feel  _ his voice shaking and before he could really process what was happening Spot’s was tugging him to his feet. “Where we goin’?”

Spot, he noticed, looked a little worse for wear as well, clothes hanging limply off of him in a way that suggested he’d known exactly what Race meant. 

“Back to ya lodging.”

“Spot, you don’t gotta-”

Spot jerked him forward a little bit to cut him off, his hand staying connected to Race’s even after he’d already pulled him up. “It ain’t about you, I was crossin’ the bridge to talk to Kelly anyway.”

They didn’t speak after that, Race struggling to keep up with Spot’s quick pace, his legs were shaking pretty bad now and he didn’t say anything but he felt like he might pass out right there on the street. He wished he had another smoke. 

Spot gripped Race’s hand firmly, warmth seeping from his hand into Race’s, and the average passerby would have just thought he was a kid dragging his brother or friend off somewhere. Nothing else. 

Funnily enough, Jack was waiting at the door of lodging when they got there. A wave of guilt hit Race’s chest and he tried to force a cocky look, really anything but exhaustion, onto his face before he got in front of Jack. It didn’t work.

“Where the hell ‘ave you been?” Jack wrenched Race forward by the collar and Spot dropped his hand quickly. “I got kids cryin’ because ‘Racer’s gone’, and in the middle of the night too.”

Race stuttered for a second and he saw Jack’s eyes flick down to, well it didn’t really matter where because every part of his body was shaking to some degree, and then back up to his eyes.

He took a long sigh. “Just go inside, kid, ‘lotta people in there waitin’ for ya.”

Glancing behind him to look at Spot, Race nodded jerkily. “‘Kay, see ya Spot.”

“See ya.”

He got halfway through the door before either of them started talking again, and he barely caught the end of a sentence before it banged shut behind him. 

“Gotta keep an better eye on him-”

* * *

 

_ “I get awful worried ‘bout ya sometimes, Race.” _

_ “Aw that’s sweet of ya, Spotty.” _

_ “I mean it.” _

_ “I’se can take care of myself, don’t lose any sleep over me.” _

* * *

 

He’d been tackled by about five newsies about five steps in from the door, and after a couple of minutes of making up some bullshit story about collecting money from a bet, he was sitting down on the edge of his bunk. Everyone was either asleep or going back to sleep after greeting him.

Jack walked in after a minute or so, feet dragging just the slightest bit as he nodded his head toward the window wordlessly. 

Race followed him and thought it was sort of funny that Jack made him climb up the ladder to the roof first, like he might bolt or something.

* * *

 

_ “Do ya ever think about running away, Jack?” _

_ “From New York ya mean?” _

_ “Nah, from everything.” _

* * *

 

The roof was empty for once, Jack must have sent Crutchie to his bunk, it helped his leg to sleep in a real mattress if it was hurting bad, and Race leaned against the wall that separated him from a bit of a fall. It felt nice on his shoulder blades, solid. 

Jack looked him over before raking a hand through his hair. “You gotta stop doin’ this, kid, you ain’t gonna make it if ya keep pullin’ this shit.”

Race shrugged. “The little ones gotta eat Jack, you know that.”

“Yeah, and so do you, ya ain’t that much older than some of them, y’know.”

It was true, and Race knew that Jack wasn’t just talking about his skipping meals. “I was fine, sittin’ out by the water, Spot found me pretty quick.”

Jack nodded, and walked over to stand in front of Race, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Next time just ask me to come up here, yeah? I’d feel a whole lot better if I knew where ya were.”

He looked genuinely scared for a moment, and the guilt resurfaced. Jack always worried about Race when he wandered off, nobody, not even Race, ever really knew where he was gonna end up.

* * *

 

_ “How’se about I sell with ya today?” _

_ “You know you ain’t supposed to be in Brooklyn, Jack.” _

_ “Yeah, well Spot Conlon owes me one, let’s go.” _

* * *

“I will.”

Visibly, a bit tension left Jack’s shoulders and he allowed himself a yawn. “Good, and we’se sleepin’ up here tonight, fresh air could do us both some good.”

He really didn’t have much to offer that would fix the pang in Race’s stomach, he wasn’t lying when he said they were short on food, but he’d managed to slow down his mind enough, at least for that night. 

They ended up curled up in the corner, the air brisk enough to force them together. It reminded Race strangely of when they were kids. They’d both had nightmares and spent most nights sleeping together like they were now. 

Things hadn’t really changed much, for either of them, he thought.  

* * *

 

_ “Y’know, I’ll soak ya if ya ever pull something like that again.” _

_ “We’se already soaked, ain’t we Jackie?” _

_ “You don’t always gotta be funny, kid.” _

_ “Yeah, but it helps, don’t it?” _

**Author's Note:**

> yo im lowkey happy with how this turned out?? hope you guys liked it as well?? hmu with kudos/comments if you did!!
> 
> also follow me on tumblr @dying-poet to catch my headcanons and other shit i do when i should be writing :^)


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